Fired
by Kitty O
Summary: Which is not a darkfic, not a deathfic, not slash, and not a reveal, and yet begins with Arthur's sword slicing towards the helpless ex-manservant on the ground. That's the kind of thing that just screams, "You've been fired." Part action, part humor.
1. Why You Shouldn't Make Arthur Angry

**Prologue/Teaser **

There was no question about it: this was all Arthur.

Merlin, from his place on the bumpy forest floor, looked up and saw the prince, and he knew it. The sword held above the blond man's head, ready to come swinging down and slice into the helpless manservant—That was Arthur's.

There was no spell over him. Arthur's eyes were not glazed. Their blue did not sparkle with telltale red, black, or gold. Arthur was not being controlled.

He was not being tricked.

He wasn't crazy.

He was, quite simply, glaring down at Merlin, his face scrunched up into a savage expression, prepared to bring the blade down mercilessly on the dark-haired man's body.

And Arthur was doing it because he chose to.

Merlin's eyes widened as a whistling sound reached his ears and the air was split by the shiny, lethal sword, sharp side facing down.

Merlin's hands grappled at the ground. He cursed once, out loud, something he'd never say in front of his mother.

Then the sword landed, and the one-time manservant's high pitched scream echoed through the forest, shaking even the trees down to the roots.

**A/N: Review if you're interested in seeing just what's going on. :) **

**So, yeah, this WILL be continued. But it will be a while. Partly because I'm working on another fic just now, and partly because I only have a very vague idea of what I want to happen. So just enjoy this teaser. Please to review if you want me to continue, like I said. The rest will probably be written in the same detached way. I think it's kind of interesting…**

**(Also, if you are a reader of my other stories, please check the poll on my profile. Greatly appreciated.)**


	2. How Yet Another Plot is Hatched

_Thanks to __**DarkAngel2112**__, who lets me spoil almost all my stuff by asking for help with plots, I finally know how to get everything going! _

_I got a lot of guesses as to what is going on—including "Arthur found out about Merlin's magic", "Merlin scared away a really cool deer", "did he destroy Arthur's shirt again?", etc. I'll get around to telling you… eventually. To answer some other questions: This is set during Season 3. There will be no slash. This will not be a death!fic (I'm infamous for doing that, so I thought I should tell you). This will not be a torture/whump/nastiness fic. It will not be a fluffy bunny/rainbow/unicorn/biting satire fic either, but just for you, __**PPitP**__, I will see how many of those I can throw in there. This will probably have chapters that vary greatly in length. Thanks for the great response, and now onto the story! _

_Oh, um… This__** isn't**__ meant to be femslash. It's just…Morgause is a creeper. What can I say?_

**Chapter One**

Another plot. Morgana had known Morgause for more than a year now, and she knew that the only time the blonde was really happy was when she was plotting. Since most of those plots worked towards the demise of Morgana's enemies and the taking over of Camelot, the brunette sister didn't mind at all.

This time, they were going to kill Arthur. Well, recently, all they'd been doing was trying to kill Arthur, so naturally that was this plan too… But this time it was going to work!

"Sister," whispered Morgause, beaming with the joy of planning another's downfall, "has Arthur been sent on his quest yet?"

"No, he leaves in the morning," responded Morgana, feeling the inevitable smirk twist her ruby red lips. "Uther ordered him to take some knights and go the minute he heard about the 'bandits' hiding in the forest."

Morgause held her sister's hands in her own as she asked excitedly, "Who all does he take with him?"

Casting her mind back, Morgana glanced around the darkened back hallway and thought. "Merlin, of course. Sir Andrew, Sir Christopher, Sir Daniel, several guards… I think that's it."

Morgause was faintly surprised. "The number of so-called bandits was greatly miscalculated then."

"Apparently," responded Morgana, chuckling darkly.

"Have you asked Uther about our own quest, my sister?" Morgana liked the way Morgause pronounced 'Uther'; as though it was some poison that she was trying to spit out of her mouth. Uther's ward wished she had the freedom to say it that way.

"Not yet," she told her sister. "In the morning I will ask, and leave tomorrow."

"Wise, sister." Morgause touched her sister's face, and Morgana resisted the urge to push it away. She knew her sister was just worried about her, but that was ridiculous—besides, she was making _Morgana_ nervous. "You should get some sleep if you will be traveling tomorrow."

"Yes, Morgause, I will." Morgana wrapped her bright red cloak around herself and smiled at her sister, who really acted like a mother hen sometimes. "The mercenaries await my orders?"

"And your money," added Morgause.

"I won't forget."

"There is nothing to worry about."

Morgause was more worried than Morgana, but the ward decided not to point that out. "Of course not," she said instead. "Once Arthur is away from Camelot, killing him will be too easy!"

Morgause smiled. Morgana smirked. And so another plan was set into motion.

Morgana turned with one last confiding smile and walked down the hall, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor, like the sound of cracking ice.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"_Mer_lin, why are you _still_ hanging around?"

Merlin sighed at his master, Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot… the biggest prat ever to don chainmail. He wasn't too great at listening, either.

"Because, Sire, I've been trying to tell you something for about ten minutes now."

Arthur turned around. "Did you finish my packing?"

"Yes, I did."

"Then what's the problem?"

"If you'd listen for a second, then I'd tell you!" snapped Merlin, causing Arthur to raise his eyebrows until they nearly touched his feathery golden hair.

The prince stopped and leaned against his bed post, the condescending expression that Merlin had grown to know and love (more or less) taking over his face. "I'm waiting, _Mer_lin."

"Arthur, I know the reports said that there weren't many bandits…"

"Yes, that's what they said. Should I applaud?"

Merlin's withering glare was a little too amused to be effective. "But did you ever stop to consider you might take a _few_ more men than you plan to?"

"Why? Merlin, Camelot can't spare that many… Besides, we are the best fighters Camelot has –"

"Then I fear for Camelot," Merlin grumbled, and if he'd had any idea who he was echoing, he'd have shut his mouth quickly.

"So we are more than capable of taking a few bandits." Arthur turned around again.

"But Arthur," protested Merlin, coming around to the other side of the bed so he was still facing the prince. "If there are so few of them, how are they causing such a big problem? Maybe the reports were mistaken…"

Arthur let out an explosive, exasperated breath. "Why do you care?"

Merlin was a little offended by the way he said that. "I… I just don't want you to get _killed_, Arthur."

"Your concern is _touching_, _Mer_lin, I assure you," scoffed the prince, shaking his head.

"And I don't really want to die either," added Merlin as an afterthought, cocking his head to the side in that way that only Merlin can.

Arthur smiled patronizingly. "I promise you I won't die, Merlin, and if you don't do something _stupid_, I promise _you _won't die either."

Merlin sagged. _That_ was comforting.

"This is going to turn into one of those conversations where I keep trying to convince you that I'm right, but you ignore every intelligent word I say, isn't it?"

Arthur looked surprised. "Your words are intelligent sometimes?"

Merlin groaned and left, muttering about the worst job in the history of bad jobs, deciding that as the next few days were probably going to be full of action that could've been avoided if Arthur took good advice, he might as well be well rested for the trip. Sometimes he wondered why he couldn't just _quit_.

Behind him, Arthur smiled fondly to himself. That Merlin. There was no one quite like him.

**A/N: I know the number of reviews usually drops after the first chapter, but please, please review!**


	3. In Which Gaius Burns a Table and Cloth

_I was a little surprised that no one pointed out the foreshadowing/irony behind the statement: __"I promise you I won't die, Merlin, and if you don't do something __stupid__, I promise __you __won't die either." Because, well, Morgause and Morgana are trying to kill Arthur, and as shown from the teaser, things aren't all peachy for Merlin either. I guess it was a little too obscure. Or maybe no one felt like mentioning it. _

_Whatever. The reviews did go down last chapter, but not by much, for which I am eternally grateful. Seriously. Eternally. Forever and Ever, Amen. Etc._ _Thanks very much for the amazing reviews! Short chapter this time, but please review. _

**Chapter Two**

* * *

The door slammed so hard that Gaius, leaned over his table with his bubbling medicines, jumped and spilled a blue potion onto the table.

"Merlin!" he snapped. "Look at what you made me do!"

Merlin was busy seething and didn't notice Gaius's anger. "He never listens to me!"

Gaius sighed, wiping at the sizzling mark on his table with a cloth—wait, was it one of Merlin's neckerchiefs? Didn't matter… "I assume you're talking about Arthur?"

"Yes, the _prat_!" cried Merlin, pacing about the chambers. "If he would just stop and think for a moment, he would realize that there is no way that so few bandits could be such a menace… And if they are, then we'll need more men to defeat them, obviously! You'd think he wanted to get himself killed!"

"I'm sure you'll make things work out, Merlin," assured Gaius, staring at the cloth that seemed to be_ smoking._ (Wait, hadn't he been making _medicine_?)

Merlin wasn't paying attention to Gaius any more than Gaius was concerned about what Merlin was saying. "I tried to tell him… I'm not responsible for what happens if he's going to be so stupid."

Gaius dropped the cloth and whacked at it, putting out the tiny flame that had begun to eat away at it, but the fire came right back. Oops…

"And Morgana's been smirking all day long. I'm partly convinced that she's got a plan."

Gaius dropped the neckerchief cloth into a bucket of water and watched the surface bubble up. Then he turned around and looked at Merlin. "What has Morgana done?"

"I don't know yet! But I'm sure I'll find out tomorrow," said Merlin, putting his hands in his head. "We're going after the bandits first thing in the morning. I've got a bad feeling."

Gaius's brow furrowed. "Be careful, Merlin. If you think there's some sort of plan against Arthur, you need to keep a sharp eye out."

"I know that, Gaius," responded Merlin, heading towards his room. "I'll be careful and not get killed, I promise. Now, I'm going to bed. I might as well get a lot of sleep, because this trip will probably keep me awake… That prat…" Still muttering angrily, Merlin slammed the door to his room.

Gaius watched him with a worried expression. He didn't like the boy being in danger, but if anyone could handle it, Merlin could.

And… did the room smell like smoke? Hmm…

* * *

The next morning, Morgana found Uther early.

"Sire."

He turned around in the hall, his eyes lighting up when they fell upon his ward. "Morgana! What is it, child?"

She stared at him with her red-rimmed eyes, still stunned at the amount of affection in his voice. How could he think that she could still love him after the way he'd treated her once, yelling at her, ignoring her, grabbing her by the throat…?

"I… I wanted to ask you something, Sire."

He came forward and took her hands, his gray eyes all mellow concern. "Anything, Morgana."

"I want to make a trip to my father's grave." She spoke in almost a whisper, and Uther could not mistake the sorrow in her tone. "I want to just… see him."

She looked down, but he caught her chin and brought her face back up. "I understand, Morgana." She missed her father. It was natural, even after all these years. Maybe she was having a hard time. "Of course you can make the trip. I'll prepare a company for you…"

"No, I want to leave today."

He looked surprised. "That's not much time."

"Then I'll just take a guard or two. I want to leave immediately."

He wanted to protest, to say it wasn't safe, but then she looked up at him with her pleading green eyes.

She had such sad eyes.

He breathed out heavily.

"Alright, Morgana."

Inside, she cheered her first little victory. Those knights wouldn't be hard to lose, she figured, so she was pretty much out of Camelot on her own.

This was going to work. She smirked, in full view of Uther. But of course he didn't see a thing.


	4. Which Contains a Rainbow

_Because the last chapter turned out funnier than I wanted this story to be, I think I'll have to tone down the humor now. Don't worry, though, I'll still give you something to laugh at. Oh, look, I got a rainbow in this chapter. I'm not happy with this chapter, actually, but please, please review because it spurs me on._

**Chapter Three**

* * *

It had rained all night.

Merlin decided to take that as an omen.

He lay in bed a long time, staring at his ceiling and trying to force himself to sleep, but it was no use. He was too nervous about the following day (and, truthfully, he was still a little too irritated with Arthur) to go to sleep, and of course telling himself that he _absolutely had_ to sleep_ now _was the perfect way to ensure that his eyes never closed. Eventually he got up, deciding that he would practice some spells—whenever he left Camelot, he always ended up using a few. He whispered the magic words to himself quietly so as not to bother Gaius, reading by the light of more magic.

Eventually, his eyes grew so tired that the words seemed to blur together, and when he tried to read one aloud, he ended up catching his clothes on green fire that was room temperature and emitted no smoke. He decided it was probably time to retire, but first, he wrote down that spell in case he ended up needing it. It could be useful.

Merlin tried to go to sleep listening to the pounding of the ill-omened rain.

But he couldn't.

Instead, he resorted to pacing. This was uncharacteristic of Merlin, as he wasn't generally the kind of person who paced, but he honestly did not know what else to do.

He wore a path in the floor as he walked to and fro, his eyelids dropping lower and lower with every pass.

Finally he couldn't do it any more, and collapsed onto his bed just as the first gray hint of dawn appeared in the east and the rain began to slow. He slept.

It seemed like mere moments before Gaius was shaking him awake.

* * *

With the morning came a rainbow.

Arthur took that as a good sign.

He woke up long before Merlin got to his room, as he had grown accustomed to doing. This was mainly for the pleasure of being able to yell at Merlin for being late. And, yes, he knew that was cruel of him, but Merlin never seemed to mind particularly.

After a few minutes, Merlin still hadn't showed, so Arthur dressed and went to make sure the horses were ready to go, making a mental note to scold Merlin for his lack of breakfast. The chain mail especially was very difficult to put on by himself, and he didn't even bother with armor. Merlin could help him with that when they stopped for the horses to have a rest.

As it turned out, he met Merlin right outside his door, holding a tray of breakfast.

Arthur opened his mouth to start in on Merlin. He just planned on the usual: _Merlin, you're late. Merlin, you're useless. Merlin, you're a girl… _However, one look at Merlin's haggard face and he decided to lay off for today.

This decision was due to the fact that Arthur was bored of picking on Merlin. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Merlin looked half-dead and very, very pitiful.

"Merlin, you look horrible," observed the prince.

"Thanks."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Did you not sleep at all last night?"

"No, I did… for about an hour." Merlin's voice was dull and flat.

Arthur shook his head and yet another display of Merlin's idiocy. Honestly, Arthur had known Merlin for years now, and it was obvious that he was actually relatively intelligent. _So how could someone so smart be so stupid?_ It boggled the mind. "_Mer_lin," he said, repressing a groan. "You _knew_ we were leaving early this morning."

Merlin nodded, his eyes drifting closed, but he forced them open as he leaned against the doorway. "I knew."

Arthur brushed past his manservant, grabbing some cheese from the tray as he did so, remarking with a satisfied smile, "Don't tell me. You stayed up all night worrying about my safety on this quest?"

"How'd you guess?" mumbled Merlin, resisting the urge to tell Arthur to wipe away the smirk; it made him look like Morgana. Actually, when Arthur made that facial expression, the fact that they were half-siblings didn't seem so far-fetched.

_Oh, Merlin, _he thought to himself with a sleepy smile. _You are a witty, witty warlock. _

He followed his destiny down the hall, sneaking a bit of Arthur's breakfast into his own mouth. "Aren't you going to eat, Sire?"

"I _would_'ve, had I had time," answered Arthur. "If you had been _on time_."

"So you don't want this, then?"

"I never said that."

Arthur turned and took the tray from Merlin, then continued on his way, completely missing the hungry look his servant gave the food.

"Look out the window," said Arthur airily as he passed one by, gesturing. "Rainbow. Isn't that good luck, or something? Maybe that means I'll survive the trip after all!"

Merlin glared balefully at the colorful stripe against the sky. "You're not helping here," he mumbled to it before continuing down the stone hallway.

* * *

Morgana had to wonder. If the guards of Camelot were really so bad, then why in the world couldn't she manage to take over the kingdom? It seemed like it would be so easy. It had only taken her fifteen minutes to lose the guards so thoroughly that they would be lucky if they ever found their way back to Camelot at all. (Or maybe not so lucky. Telling Uther that they lost his ward would not go over well. If they were smart, the guards would head for the border and not look back.)

Morgause met her, then, and led her to meet these mercenaries—or minions, as Morgause seemed bound and determined to call them.

Morgana didn't know what she expected… No, that was a lie. She knew what she had expected. Slightly pudgy, ugly, sneering men in mismatched clothes.

None of those adjectives described the leader that Morgause introduced her to.

He was the sort of man that can kiss a lady's hand with a flourish and not look like an idiot, but rather make her heart beat at twice the normal speed. He was the sort of man with brown eyes that looked perpetually melted, and a charming tongue that belied his black heart.

Morgana's favorite kind of man.

He was leaning over the fire of his makeshift camp when they entered, ordering his men about, but immediately stood and brushed off his trousers, pasting a disarming smile on his face and coming forward. "Ah, Morgause. How are you?"

Morgana half-expected Morgause to begin to flirt shamelessly, as she often did when men approached, but it seemed the leader was too intelligent to fall for it, so the blonde didn't bother. "I'm well, Frederick," she told him with a smile.

He smiled her once more, and then turned that grin to Morgana. "And this, I presume, is the Lady Morgana? A pleasure, my lady."

Her knees did buckle slightly when he took her hand and kissed it, but she refused to let it show in her face. She had better things to do than appreciate a very attractive black-hearted scoundrel with a taste for gold.

He got right to the point. "I suppose you brought my men's payment?"

Very clever of him not to associate himself with the greedy mercenaries.

"Of course," said Morgause. "You will get paid… Once you perform the job you're getting paid for."

"Understood, my lady." He eyed the pouch around Morgana's waist with not-so-obvious longing. "So, what exactly is your plan?"

Morgause let Morgana speak for herself this time.

"It's very simple," said Morgana, brushing back her hair, smirking at the dark-eyed man. "You wait until our quarry is far enough from Camelot. And then… you attack."


	5. How the Protagonists are Attacked

_A/N: This is a bit of a more serious chapter. I tried a new approach to the action scene with a lot of things going on. It's kind of a roving perspective. What do you think of it? _

**WARNING:** There is blood. There is violence. I'm changing the rating to T. It's not much, or very graphic… But, there you go.

**Chapter Four**

* * *

Attack.

The attack was as swift as the word itself. One second Merlin was sitting on his horse, their pace leisurely, rubbing his sore backside. The next, the woods along the path had exploded with angry noise, and Merlin's horse was neighing in terror.

Arthur pulled on his reins and barked out an order, yanking out his sword. His eyes flickered around the road, taking in the men that poured from the forest with their weapons held aloft. He swiped at one, still yelling at the knights and guards to defend themselves.

Sir Andrew, the wit, as he was called, swung his horse around, brandishing his own shiny sword. "Guess what; we found the bandits!"

Sir Christopher actually had time to laugh before the "bandits" reached him and he was knocked off his horse. Rolling on the floor, he unsheathed his own blade and faced the attackers.

Merlin leapt off his own horse, knowing that if he didn't he'd just fall off.

A guard died without a sound as a mercenary's blade went through his chest, and the man yanked out his sword with a feral roar, moving onto the next guard.

Frederick called out to his men. "Circle around! Get them from behind!"

Sir Daniel skewered an enemy, and then another.

Merlin watched Arthur with alert eyes, slipping and falling on the dirt ground as he scurried behind a tree, unable to defend himself and Arthur at the same time and knowing his priority. He watched as an enemy's blade came close, but Arthur blocked it. An arrow from the side was deflected with a flash of gold in Merlin's eyes. It fell uselessly to the ground, snapping underfoot.

Sir Christopher smiled to himself, holding his own quite well. And then the bandits that were circling around made their way behind him. A short, sharp pain in his back, in a weak part of his armor; and with a surprised cough Christopher found himself on the ground, a sword through his chest.

Merlin saw Christopher die and turned around, now wary of the men behind them. A sneering face was in his own, and Merlin's eyes flashed gold; the man flew away from him, his head cracking against a tree trunk. Merlin allowed himself a relieved smile, turning back to look for Arthur.

Sir Daniel suddenly had to deal with Christopher's attackers as well as his own, and the shouting in the road increased dramatically as he shouted in fury and determination.

Arthur was backed against a tree, but then a branch cracked above, and – O lucky chances! – it fell threw the air and buried two bandits. He pushed forward, moved by sudden fierce determination, and fought harder than before.

Sir Andrew died on the ground, choking as a sword severed his neck, making him unable to say those clever last words that he'd been planning for years. Blood pooled around him.

Merlin fought off as many men as he could, but he realized that he couldn't protect Arthur and himself, and he couldn't very well protect Arthur if he was dead. Sighing in frustration, pushing an attacker off of him, he called out, "_Darian gwmpas Arthur_!" The only person who heard him was a guard, and he died in the next second anyway.

And Frederick smirked, images of gold dancing in his head as he twisted the blade in a dark man's gut—Sir Daniel, though he didn't know it.

A ferocious fighter discovered that, no matter how he hacked at Arthur, his blade just couldn't reach the exhausted prince.

The last of the guards died.

Merlin cast the spell about himself too, realizing that he should've thought of this earlier.

It was only Merlin and Arthur left.

But no matter how the enemies pushed, neither man was killed. Not Arthur, standing in the open in the road, and not Merlin, pressed against a tree fifteen feet away and unable to see the prince. Arthur fought, and Merlin tried not to use too much magic and reveal himself as he grabbed a dead man's sword to fight with, trying to make his way back to the prince.

Then Frederick got wise and hit Arthur over the head with the hilt of his sword, the dull object getting past the shield. The world stopped for Arthur as he collapsed onto the dirt floor, surrounded by bodies.

Merlin's head jerked to the side, hearing Arthur yelp. He stumbled towards his prince, the one he was supposed to be protecting – _he can't be dead, right? I thought that spell…_ – and didn't see the hand swinging towards him from behind.

A hilt and the back of Merlin's head made contact, and the warlock pitched forward. He lay on the ground, face in the dust, arm outstretched towards the motionless prince he was supposed to be helping as though still trying to reach him.

The yelling stopped, and then it was over.

* * *

Frederick wiped his brow, sighing as he straightened his back and looked around at the carnage. There was a lot of blood, and quite a few bodies sprawled across the ground. One man's neck was no longer attached to his body; another was leaning against a tree in a sitting position, as though he'd fallen asleep. One was curled into a ball. Some of the men were his, and some were Camelot's.

He sighed.

"Check for survivors," he ordered a blond man next to him. That was always the first thing to do; it was not a wise idea to just assume people were dead. He made _that_ mistake once, and he had the deep scar across his back to prove it.

The blond man echoed the orders, and the remaining men – about ten in all – spread out and began to check on those lying on the ground. Frederick stayed by unconscious prince, loathe to leave his prize lying there alone.

"Dead," said one man, skipping over the decapitated knight. The word was echoed around the road by all the other man, with one exception.

"He's alive," announced a burly man with a barrel chest, leaning over a skinny man who'd been hit from behind. "Who is he, anyway? He doesn't have any armor."

Frederick peered over at him. "I think that's the servant the Lady Morgana mentioned…What was his name?"

No one remembered.

"Bring him over here," ordered Frederick, wanting to keep an eye on him. Several men picked him up and carried the dark-haired man over, placing him closer to the prince.

Frederick immediately forgot about him and turned his attention back to Arthur. "He's a hard one to kill, isn't he? He's a fighter; good thing too, considering who he is." Frederick laughed a little, to himself, and several people joined in. "But, too bad. That's what we're getting paid for, eh?" Frederick hefted his sword and brought it down on Arthur's neck, the light flashing against it in its deadly arc.

It never reached Arthur. A faint flickering seemed to materialize over Arthur's body, and the sword hit it like a solid wall, bouncing back. Understandably surprised, Frederick tried again with the same result.

"Well," he mumbled. "That's a little different, isn't it? Lady Morgana_ might_ have mentioned it."

The blond man (nicknamed Daffodil by someone who was exceptionally brave and also _dead_) started at the sign of magic, backing up and crossing himself, which Frederick found rather amusingly superstitious.

"What was that?" asked the burly man.

"I don't know," said Frederick. "But I wonder…" He tried again, stabbing at the prince with his sword. The same thing happened. Curious, he said, "Move out the way," and stuck his sword at the servant. The shimmer in the air appeared again, protecting him.

"I don't think Lady Morgana knew about this," guessed Frederick. "We'll just have to tell her, then, eh? I think we should get paid extra for killing people with extra protection. Makes sense." He chuckled again.

Turning around abruptly, he ordered his men, "Move the dead bodies out of the road. We don't want some random travelers to cause us trouble."

"What about the blood?" asked the burly man.

"Can't be helped."

Frederick started to walk away, but Daffodil's slightly nervous call stopped him. "What about _them_?" he asked.

A smile lit up Frederick's rugged face, and he looked back at his helper. "Don't worry; we're not going to let them get away."

* * *

_A/N: You know, reviews are always much appreciated. Seriously. They make me very, very happy… What do you think of this turn of events?_


	6. Why Merlin is Fired

**Chapter Five**

* * *

Merlin woke up tied to a tree, feeling completely exhausted, wondering where Arthur was.

A second of glancing around was enough to assure him that Arthur wasn't far, and so he moved on to the part of him that was completely exhausted.

After another moment, he decided that he was feeling drained because he had been using magic while asleep again, and if he didn't want to pass out, then he had better stop using the magic.

Which was a shame, because it would have been a very useful spell to keep up.

After a whispered word, there was a flickering in the air, and the shields around Arthur and Merlin died out. Immediately Merlin sighed in relief, feeling energy come back into his limbs. Now… to work on escaping.

His eyes flashed gold, but there were no words; after all, he'd been able to move objects around since before he could walk.

* * *

Arthur woke up also tied to a tree, not quite so exhausted, and wondering where the guards, knights, and his manservant were.

After he assured himself that Merlin was about five feet away and a little behind him, also tied to a tree, he spoke and broke the silence all around him.

"Merlin?"

Merlin looked up at him, smiling. "Sire, you're awake."

"You're very observant. Where are the others?"

"The… others? Um…" Merlin's smile faltered and a flash of guilt surged through him. Right, the others. The others that it hadn't been his priority to save. The others that he wasn't destined to watch over. Those others always ended up the same way; he would've thought that Arthur would know that by now. "They… didn't make it, Arthur."

Arthur blanched, his eyes closing briefly. "None of them? Sir Christopher, Sir Daniel, Sir Andrew? The guards?"

Merlin didn't answer, but let Arthur lapse into a brief mourning silence.

The others _never_ made it.

Arthur was a man of action, and so he couldn't brood for more than a few minutes. He had to begin looking for solutions, and in order to do that, he needed to think clearly. And in order to do that, he had to lighten the mood.

Solution # 1, as always: Blame Merlin.

"_Mer_lin," he finally said, struggling a little against the ropes. "I don't know how we got here or why we're still alive… But I blame you."

Merlin's mouth dropped in indignation. "You… blame me? _That we're alive_?"

"That we're in this position," replied Arthur, grinning to himself at Merlin's irritation, though he knew what the exasperated response would be.

"_Me_? I _told_ you that something like this would happen! I_ told_ you that you should be careful, take more men, but _noooo_…"

"Shut up, Merlin."

Merlin sighed and shook his head. "You are_ such_ an aggravating prat." Growling, he added, "You're enough to make me want to _quit_."

"Yes, well, you're enough to make me want to fire you… We need to escape." Arthur got himself back on task, giving up trying to pull loose the ropes binding him to the tree. "I think I've a dagger in my boot, if I can just… reach… it…" He tried rather comically to bend over backward. "I don't think I can…"

But nevertheless, the next few minutes were filled with the grunts of Arthur trying his best.

Merlin just rolled his eyes and watched, bored.

Birds tweeted. Arthur still tried.

A rabbit hopped across a tree root in front of him. Arthur still tried.

Merlin sighed. Arthur gave up.

"I can't," he admitted.

"Let me," he said, twisting his hand behind his back.

The sound of sawing could be heard.

And then the ropes fell away and Merlin stepped away from the tree, rubbing his sore wrists.

Arthur stared at the knife in his hand. "Hey, that's my knife!"

"Yes, it is," agreed Merlin. "I'm using it to free us." He stepped towards Arthur.

"Yes," insisted the flabbergasted prince, trying to watch as Merlin went behind him and began to cut loose his ropes. "But how did you get it?"

"Didn't you know? I was a pickpocket in a previous life."

"Wait, what?"

* * *

"Okay," said Merlin, running behind Arthur, trying to catch his breath. "Where are we going?"

"_Away_," answered the prince, grip tightening on his sheathed sword (he'd found it about fifty yards from the tree he'd been tied to, hidden behind a tree, and assumed the bandits' loads were too heavy as it was), looking around. "We're trying to get back to Camelot _without _running into those bandits again, so I can tell my father that their numbers were grossly underestimated."

"And you think they might go back towards those trees soon?"

"Of course. They'd be foolish to leave the prince of Camelot alone in the woods for too long, even tied up." Arthur paused to consider which way they would go as they stumbled onto a dirt road, right at a fork. He wished they had their horses, which had been lost in the fight earlier…

"Alone?" asked Merlin, his eyebrows raised, coming to a halt behind Arthur, gasping for breath and sweaty.

"You don't count."

"I'm the reason you escaped."

Arthur ignored that. "Did you hear that noise?"

"The noise of a bunch of bandits walking faintly in the distance?" suggested Merlin.

"Maybe. Which way did it come from?" Arthur's brow furrowed.

Merlin sighed. He wasn't even sure that there had been a noise, but Arthur would probably stand there for an hour debating that unless he, Merlin, put a stop to it.

"It was that way. Let's go this way," he said decidedly, and began to run to the left, into the forest.

"Are you sure?" Arthur called after him.

Merlin didn't answer, so Arthur followed him down the road, still keeping his hand on his sword.

Merlin ran a little ahead, Arthur close behind, the trees whipping past them in a flurry of green.

They turned a corner…

And ran smack-dab into the group of about six waiting bandits.

Merlin cursed, skidding to a stop, and Arthur nearly bumped into him.

There was a moment of shocked silence, and then Arthur grabbed Merlin and tossed him back, standing between his servant and the two-time attackers. He yanked out his sword.

"Merlin," he said, readying himself. "For the record, you're fired."

And then the attack began.

* * *

**A/N: I fit in the fluffy bunny! **

**I don't think this story is so well-liked, because even though it has a lot of alerts, the enthusiasm is pretty low. (However, thanks to those who do leave kind reviews or favorite.) It's kind of rubbing off on me… That's why the chapters are so short and condensed. Sorry, very sorry. I'm trying as hard as I can. So anyway, please, please review? It makes me feel all "fired" up. (Get it?) Yeah, that was bad…**

**Review! **


	7. How Merlin's Neck Gear is Mistreated

_A/N: Alright, next chapter. Fern and Zab assured me that the final destination is clever enough for this story, and DarkAngel2112 has okayed the plot (by which I mean helped come up with). Thank you to all the reviewers! The reviews had been dropping by leaps and bounds, but last chapter had three times as much as the one before! So thank you all. _

_Something is wrong with me. This is my second pun (below) in two chapters. I need to stop before someone strangles me. Collective groan, everybody? Arthur will start…_

**Chapter Six**

* * *

Arthur groaned, making no effort to cover it up, and he stumbled a little.

Merlin glanced back at him and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Are you alright, Arthur?"

"Fine," Arthur assured him.

_I bet you are. _

Arthur was only suffering from a gash on his arm. Merlin had received worse injuries—in fact, he did almost weekly. But that wasn't what was annoying Merlin right now. Something much more important was preying on his mind.

Arthur was using _his neckerchief_ as a bandage.

That meant it was now covered in blood, which would probably not come out. And so, he lost his neckerchief… which his mother gave to him. It wasn't like he'd rather Arthur bleed to death, not really—no, of course not.

But _his neckerchief_! After all, the other one had a mysterious burn that had eaten through almost the entire thing. (He wasn't sure what happened, but he found it floating in a pail of water the morning he left—was that yesterday or the day before?)

"You know," commented Arthur, "I just can't believe how well that worked out."

"What, you have a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that you defeated half-a-dozen attackers? I find_ that_ hard to believe."

If Arthur knew he was being picked on, he didn't comment on it. "Yes, Merlin. I may be a great fighter, but one man against six… Those are pretty rough odds."

"It was two men against six."

"Because_ you_ were a lot of help, _Mer_lin."

Merlin couldn't quite keep the ironic smile off of his face. "But we defeated them, didn't we?"

"Yeah," he agreed, and then fell silent, pressing his hand to Merlin's neckerchief, hurting himself more but unable to make himself stop. Arthur nodded absent-mindedly, trying to think of another topic of discussion to take his mind off the fact that one of the "bandits" had sliced his arm, and it felt like fire in his skin.

There was no question that they had defeated the bandits soundly, so no discussion there—five of the six that attacked were dead, lying on the road for some traveler to come across later. (With Arthur's arm and Merlin's brawn – or lack thereof – they couldn't be expected to dig graves.) Neither was sure quite where the last one got off to, because at that point Arthur was sitting on the ground, dazed from the fighting, his injury, and a painful knock on the head, and Merlin was (though he'd never admit it) frantic, trying to see how badly the prince was hurt.

Arthur was now sure they'd seen the last of the bandits anyway. Merlin was now sure that he _had_ seen Morgana smirking that day before they left, and realized that they probably would be seeing some sort of danger again before they reached Camelot.

Merlin wished that he'd had the energy to put up the shield again, then.

But, he decided, while he wishing for things that he couldn't have, he might as well wish they had never gone on the stupid trip in the first place. He could wish that magic wasn't illegal, that Arthur wasn't a prat, that the prince appreciated all that the warlock did for him…

…_That Arthur would return his bloody neckerchief!_

Merlin paused and thought about that for a second, smiling slightly.

_Pun possibly intended. _

* * *

Frederick hissed in anger and pain, stomping his way back to his camp where he was supposed to meet Morgana—with Arthur, dead or alive.

Frankly, he was not in a good mood. Bested in a fight, an unkillable, escapist prince giving him trouble, most of his men dead… And he tried not to rub the bleeding gash on his forehead; it just made the pain worse.

And all because the witch had apparently forgotten to notify him that the dark-haired lad was a sorcerer, capable of taking out a good many men in a fight, and also adept at getting out of ropes and making shields.

To be fair, perhaps she hadn't known.

In which case, Frederick would see fit to inform her. Right before he quit.

Unless, of course, she made an offer that jingled and that he just _couldn't_ refuse…

* * *

_A/N: I know it's short, but I liked where it ended. Also, I wanted to get this chapter out before the end of Spring Break. So… please review? I'm hoping this will get more serious soon, but I just don't know… _


	8. Which is Full of Plotting

_My chapter length for all my stories has begun getting shorter and shorter. I blame the drabbling plague. So I refuse to post this chapter until it is 7 pages long… So, prepare for a longer chapter than the others! (Okay, it's 6 and a fraction of the seventh, but I just liked the spot where it ended!)_

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

"That's preposterous!" exclaimed Morgana, nearly leaping off her seat, staring at Frederick with wide eyes that were not caused by the sight of his rippling muscles. "It can't be!"

Frederick eyed her rather darkly. "I watched him kill my right hand man of ten years… I think it is very possible." Frederick was still simmering over Daffodil's death. Neither Morgana nor Morgause particularly cared, and he couldn't say he was surprised. They didn't strike him as the type…

Morgause was pacing, slowly but surely, a strangely happy look coming over her face. Frederick hadn't known her long enough to realize she was working her way through a problem, and that always made her happy. "Actually, Sister," she interrupted, "it makes sense if you think about it."

Morgana gave her a stare of disbelief. "It makes sense?"

Morgause's eyes widened as she spoke, facing Morgana and Frederick. "It would explain how he managed to find a way to escape my chains… Though I admit I thought them impervious to all magic. That could be how he knew to destroy the staff." A sudden strike of inspiration hit her, and she said, "It could even be what caused you to fall down the stairs and become injured; you said that the flames were acting unnatural when they startled you."

Frederick hadn't followed any of that… Something about chains and fires… What? He squinted in the bright noon-time sunlight; he'd spent the night in the forest while looking for the witches.

Morgana shook her head. "But he is loyal to the Pendragons and Camelot! He tried to poison me—why would someone with any sort of power ally himself with them, protect them?"

Poison? Frederick was briefly impressed despite himself. He didn't know the man or his history with the sisters, but it didn't seem to be very pleasant. Apparently there had been poisoning. That was impressive, if not always very efficient, because no poison was as sure-fire as a good blade. Morgana's state of, well, not-death could testify to that.

Morgause seemed to be thinking over what Morgana said. "Perhaps he's trying to get close to the prince?"

Morgana shook her head.

"Then perhaps he's just a traitor to magic… but we already knew he was capable that, didn't we? Just like his guardian, Gaius, hiding his magic in order to save his own skin, no doubt."

Morgana nodded, slowly, beginning to accept it. But that didn't mean she had to like it. Merlin used magic? Since when? Was it since before he came to Camelot? Did that mean that he let Morgana trust him, let her tell him about her fears concerning her dreams… And he never said a word in return? She'd known that he betrayed her. Morgana just hadn't realized he had betrayed his own kin.

And to think she once thought of him as an innocent, slightly naïve boy.

She really wanted to kill him… slowly.

Forcing herself to think about the real problem at hand, Morgana groaned. "We'll never kill Arthur if he has a magic-user to protect him!" (Merlin? Powerful? Man, that sounded weird.)

Morgause was smiling. "If the prince found out about his magic, Merlin would discover that his protecting Arthur was worth nothing. Arthur would surely turn him over to Uther. If he didn't just kill him."

Frederick was, by now, only listening with half of his mind, absent-mindedly rubbing his chin. He wondered if he'd get a chance to kill the whelp of a… _pipsqueak_ that murdered Daffodil. And he was also counting the sticks on the ground of the forest floor.

Morgana rolled her eyes, shifting her weight. "But Arthur's too oblivious to ever notice that, Morgause. I know. I grew up with him."

And thus an improved plan was born.

Morgause's face lit up. "Unless we made it so obvious that he couldn't overlook it."

Morgana became instantly curious. "Are you saying we could frame Merlin with say… a magical poultice, and then let Arthur take care of him…?"

"And we could then defeat Arthur easily," said Morgause with a smile. "We could do it before he even gets back to Camelot."

Frederick looked up. "That sounds like a job for me."

Morgana nodded, for once answering and not letting Morgause come up with the whole plan. "Of course… You are being paid to kill Prince Arthur, and you won't be paid until you do."

Morgause nodded. "Gather whatever men you have left and prepare yourselves."

"How will we know when that sorcerer is dead or out of the way?" asked Frederick, not wanting to annoy anyone with questions, but feeling that this part of the plan was kind of his business.

"Morgana will be with Arthur… That's how we will frame Merlin."

"But if I just show up with a magical artifact," pointed out Morgana, "Merlin will see and suspect."

"Then you must be clean when you arrive… I will give you what you need that night, and you can innocently stumble across signs of Merlin using magic in the morning. You'll have to hurry, before they get too close to Camelot."

Morgana smirked. She liked to think she was good at pretending… Arthur would be putty in her hands. Merlin would be dead by tomorrow morning; Arthur would follow before afternoon. The idea excited her. How odd that such a short time ago, it would have horrified her.

"Only one problem," said Frederick.

Morgause was getting tired of his interruptions, but she tried not to show it. "What is it?"

"Well… before we can put your plan into action, we need to find Arthur and his manservant."

Morgause's eyes flashed gold. "Leave that to me."

* * *

As afternoon approached, Merlin's need to change Arthur's bandages and check the wound became almost compulsive… But of course, he had to force himself not to check. They had no change of bandages, and they were still moving. He would have to wait.

Arthur watched the ground under his feet, thinking despondently about sleeping on it with no blanket for warmth. He wasn't looking forward to it, and it put him in a bad mood—plus, he was hungry.

He knew Merlin must be too (though in truth, an empty stomach was not as cataclysmic to the servant as it was to the prince), and Arthur wondered vaguely if there were any rats about in the forest.

_Oh, yuck._

He'd been there before and didn't want to go back. "Merlin," he called.

Merlin looked back from where he was walking, raising his eyebrows in query.

"There's a small town ahead," said Arthur. If he remembered correctly, that is, and Arthur seriously doubted he was wrong. (When was he ever?) "We're going to stop there for supplies and food."

"You have money?" Merlin's voice was hopeful—he wasn't looking forward to sleeping on the ground either. A blanket sounded like heaven. A comfortable sleep sounded even better.

"Merlin, I'm the Crown Prince of Camelot."

"…Does that mean yes?"

"I have some gold pieces in my shoe."

Merlin, who did, after all, help Arthur get ready for the day, wondered how he'd missed that. "Don't you keep coin in your saddlebags?"

"Yes, this is back-up. In case we get attacked by bandits and the horses run off back to Camelot."

Merlin was impressed. Maybe Arthur wasn't so dense after all. "You have enough to pay for an inn?"

Arthur shook his head. "I need to be able to walk in the boots, you know. I'll just buy some food, some cloth for a bandage, and a couple of blankets, and we'll keep walking. I want to get home as soon as we can."

Merlin shook his head. "No, you buy the food, and I'll get the supplies. That won't take as long."

Arthur leaned on a tree, reaching into his boot while shooting Merlin a strange look at the same time. "You think I'm going to trust you with money?"

Merlin looked around the forest as though searching for other men standing around. "Sorry, Sire, but who here has spent most of his life haggling and bartering?"

Rolling his eyes, Arthur managed to pull his money out. It jingled in a small cloth pouch. "Alright, fine. You can get the supplies. But don't waste time or money."

Smiling, Merlin agreed, "Of course. Unless of course I find a replacement neckerchief lying around and just have to—"

In his head, Merlin would admit that he probably deserved the bag of coins smacking into his face. Out loud, he just muttered, "Hey! That hurt!"

* * *

"Oh, yes, she's cheap, especially for little things like that. Her house is right there."

The young woman shifted the basket she was holding to the other hand, pointing across the dirt-packed ground to a small hut. Merlin's eyes followed her finger, and he nodded as he caught sight of the plain but neat little cottage.

"Thanks," he said with his trademark infectious grin. "Thought I'd never find it." Merlin had been asking around for a while, but no one had been able to point him toward a place where he could buy supplies as simple as blankets—that required more cloth than sewing anyway; any mother could make one. Merlin pointed out that he was not, in fact, a mother, but it got him nowhere until he finally found the helpful woman.

She grinned back, not able to help herself, and flicked her slim blonde braid over her shoulder. "It's no problem." Hugging her basket, the young woman wandered away, leaving Merlin standing alone.

He sighed to himself a little as he started for the house, thinking that if he didn't hurry, Arthur would become either worried or grouchy. Merlin was betting on the latter. Arthur seemed to spend most of his time in a grouchy mood anyway, and he really wasn't all that prone to worrying about his servant, except for those occasions when worrying was obviously warranted. Like when Merlin got thrown in a cell. Again.

Actually, the cells of Camelot weren't so bad… Cenred's cells, now _they_ were uncomfortable, though they did contain a cot, unlike Camelot's. But Arthur got the cot anyway, so it didn't really matter to Merlin. He was more concerned about the hardness of the floor. The floors in Camelot's dungeons had the distinct feel of home, whereas…

Wait, what was he even thinking about?

Merlin shook his head, wondering where his thoughts had even come from. His mind kept on wandering. But he was just so _tired!_

_I'd better get those blankets fast so we can sleep,_ he thought to himself as he knocked on the door of the cottage, and, hearing a faint reply, he entered.

The old woman sitting in the corner gave him a small smile as he entered. "Yes?"

Merlin shot her one of his smiles. "I'm just looking for some blankets to buy."

She smiled in return as she stood up, showing her lack of teeth. "You live around here?"

"Uh… no."

"Didn't think so," she replied. "Though I can't think why someone would travel without at least a blanket."

Merlin chuckled. "The blankets ran off with the horses, I'm afraid." He watched her hobble across the room, resisting the urge to help her walk. She might not like that.

She made her way across the sunlit room, still talking. "Ran into some trouble?"

The woman reminded Merlin of Old Man Simmons's elderly wife, the most grandmotherly person that the warlock had ever met (even if her husband detested the warlock). He felt a small pang of bittersweet homesickness, but easily pushed it away. "Yes," he said. "As always. Do you have any blankets I could buy?"

She reached towards a drawer in the corner of the room, her bony hands opening it and pulling out some folded cloth. "I sell everything, my boy," she told him. "How many?"

Merlin remembered the thick covers Arthur was so used to. "How thick are they?" He walked across the room in a few steps and checked the quality of the dark blue material, rubbing it between his fingers. "Two, thank you."

She nodded and told him the price, and while he turned away to count it out, the woman went across the room to get something else. When he turned back to hand over her payment, he found her putting the folded blankets into a relatively unused sack that was made to be slung over someone's shoulder.

"How much?" he asked her, gesturing towards it.

"Nothing," she told him. "You'll need it if all of your supplies ran off. It was my Matthew's, before he was taken from me last year." Her eyes looked a little dimmer at the memory.

Merlin's eyes flickered around the house, which looked more run-down from the inside. "Oh, I can't take it without paying for it," he told her, once again reminded of Simmons's wife whenever she spoke of her children, all of whom had died. He dug out a bit more pay and handed it to her, and was rewarded with a friendly smile.

"Is there anything else you need?" she asked, her wrinkled face kindly.

Merlin shook his head, purposely not asking about neckerchiefs.

The woman turned and hobbled back to her corner of the room, sitting in a comfortable chair, sighing as her body relaxed. "Have a nice trip wherever you're going," she told him with one last maternal smile. "Remember to stay away from trouble."

He thanked her and walked out, slinging his new bag over his shoulder and feeling rather upbeat. He would go find Arthur; they would get on with the trip. Who knew… maybe, if the world was fair and an old woman's blessing counted for anything, they actually would keep away from trouble until they got to Camelot.

… Yeah, right.

* * *

_A/N: Remember that I love reviews more than I love my peach chaptstick. And I can't believe you'd deny me something so wonderful when it's so easy to give me. Anyway, was the scene with Merlin and the old lady okay? It was so hard writing an old person without having him say 'ma'am' even once… It felt so wrong :) _


	9. In Which Two Guards Have Cameos

_A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! This is a shorter chapter, mostly a bit of fill and a little side story for those of you who worried about Morgana's guards. I tried to make it amusing. Please review._

Usually I have too many unsigned reviews to reply separately, but since you asked a question… HELEN: Hey! I'm so glad you are enjoying it. I don't know how many more chapters there will be. Quite a few, I think. And good luck marrying Cenred.

**Chapter Eight **

* * *

Paul was the one who suggested they never go back.

He and Owen had spent their time up until that point trudging through the forest, trying desperately to find their way back to Camelot. They wished they had their horses… If they hadn't somehow lost their horses around the same time they lost the Lady Morgana, the two guards would have let the animals lead them home. As it was, they _did_ lose the creatures, and so it was rather pointless to wish they hadn't.

It wasn't a point that either of them really dwelled on, though, because they were more concerned with the fact that they lost the king's ward, the most precious, beautiful lady in Camelot—and they were going back without the apple of the king's eye.

Without the lost lady.

Because they lost her. When their job was to protect her.

This, quite frankly, felt like suicide.

But Owen, never one for thinking out of the box, couldn't really see a way around that. However, Paul, the more conniving of the two, thought over their predicament as they walked along, and he came to several conclusions.

One. They were walking towards Camelot without their horses or the Lady Morgana, when they had left Camelot with both.

Two. As already stated, this felt like suicide.

Three. Suicide was bad, hurt, and was frowned upon by the Church.

Following this train of thought, he came to the logical decision:

If they wanted to live (which was good, unlike suicide), they should not go to Camelot. And they _did_ want to live, _so they should not go to Camelot._

Owen disagreed at first. "But we can't just _not_ go back," he argued, pushing his dark hair from his face. "That wouldn't be right… We have to take responsibility for our actions!"

"What actions? She practically ran out on us! We didn't volunteer for this," said Paul, waggling his finger and raising an eyebrow in a way reminiscent of Gaius, the court physician.

"But… we have a job there."

"Not if Uther… fires us, or kills us, or whatever he does to us for losing Morgana."

Owen still didn't like it. "So you think we should just run out on everything?"

Finally. A breakthrough. Paul nodded.

"What about your wife?" protested Owen, looking worried.

"I'll send for her as soon as I get settled. It should only take a week or so for us to find a town and jobs… Perhaps a town outside of Camelot… Cenred's lands are lovely, you know."

In the end, Paul won.

The two guards struck out for a place as of yet unknown… But wherever it was, it would be free of paranoid kings, slippery wards, and problems caused by magic.

* * *

Morgana crept along the forest, just barely keeping her prey in sight, wondering how she had been brought down to this level.

She was _stalking._

Morgause had said that she was simply following the prince and his warlock, waiting for the opportune moment to show herself to them so that she could carry out the brilliant plan.

The dark-haired sister was more honest with herself. She was stalking, and that's all there was to it. Really, she found it quite humiliating—women of power and future queens should not _have_ to stalk.

But then again, as long as the 'brilliant plan' ended in Arthur killing Merlin, then Frederick killing Arthur, she could live with it. For her revenge, she would stalk fit to beat Arthur when he caught sight of a deer on a hunting trip.

* * *

_A/N: Fact, you are all good people. Fact, good people do nice things. Conclusion. You do nice things. Fact, nice things make people happy. Fact, reviews make me happy. Conclusion. Reviews may be nice things. Conclusion. You review._

_Don't argue with the logic._


	10. In Which They are Reunited

**Chapter Nine**

Changing the bandages on Arthur's wound with the cloth Merlin bought held them up a little while, but at last they got to moving again. The prince and the warlock knew that they would have to go quickly to get to Camelot before their provisions ran out, but for the life of them, they just couldn't get very far that day. Merlin was still feeling tired, because it had been a long day. Attacked by bandits (or was that yesterday?), tied to a tree, attacked again, trekking through the forest on the way to Camelot with a stop in a small town to buy supplies—it was a long day indeed. And Arthur was irritable because he was in pain, and when Arthur was grouchy, it was really hard for them to do anything productive. Somehow they even managed to get lost for a moment—even with Arthur's tracking abilities and Merlin's sneaking history, which meant that he was actually rather adept at finding his way back where he came from.

Evening was upon them, and night was approaching, when they ran into either more trouble.

Merlin was just thinking about suggesting they stop for the night so they could both get sleep and get started early. Arthur was… being grumpy. They were walking in silence, but suddenly the prince froze and whispered Merlin's name.

"What?" Merlin turned back, watching a cautious expression come over Arthur's face.

"Did you hear that?" asked Arthur.

Merlin shook his head. "No…" Were they about to get attacked again? Was there a monster running about? Merlin hated monsters…

Arthur made a hand signal, like he always did, and though Merlin always failed to understand them, he figured this one meant 'stay still; be quiet.' Arthur's nerves were contagious, Merlin thought nervously, looking around. He strained his ears.

There! He heard it too. Something or somebody coming. Merlin pointed to the direction it was coming from, off to his left and Arthur's right, and Arthur nodded in agreement, motioning for Merlin to step back behind him. His hand rested on his sword.

Through the underbrush and trees, a figure stumbled towards them, and right before Merlin recognized it, he was hit by a sudden sense of déjà vu…

"Morgana!" Arthur cried in surprise, hand coming away from his sword.

Just like he had when they first found Morgana after her "kidnapping," Merlin wished that he could face a monster instead.

She gave Arthur a slightly wild-eyed look before rushing forward and hugging him tightly. "Arthur!" she cried, and Merlin fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I never thought I'd see you here!"

Arthur pushed her back and took in her slightly rumpled appearance. "What are you doing here, Morgana? Why aren't you back in Camelot?"

She shrugged. "I… I wanted to visit my father's grave, and I was with these guards… But then…"

"It was probably bandits," said Merlin, who decided he had been right when he thought Morgana was up to something. Arthur didn't notice the cold way he spoke, but Morgana did, and sent him a look that was almost a glare. She only kept it civil because Arthur was looking.

"Yes," she agreed.

"They're running rampant, Arthur." Merlin's voice was quiet and dry. "You really need to do something about all these bandits running around."

This time even Arthur noticed the odd way he talked and shot him a confused glance, as if to ask why he was being so cold to the distraught Lady Morgana. "They were probably the same ones who gave us trouble."

Morgana's expression was too shocked to be genuine. "You were attacked by bandits? Is that why your horses aren't here?"

"Yes, but what happened to you, Morgana? Where are your guards?"

"I… don't know, Arthur." Her scared, quivering voice got on Merlin's nerves, but he chose to ignore it. "It all happened so fast… I lost my horse and ran away; I just heard a lot of yelling."

"It's okay," Arthur assured her, patting her on the shoulder, the picture of a gentleman comforting a lady. "Now that you've found us, we'll all go back to Camelot together. The remaining bandits will be taken care of later."

Merlin nodded a little, though Arthur wasn't talking to him. He was looking Morgana up and down for some kind of threat, but she didn't seem to even have her dagger on her. Which was good… Maybe he should've checked for that before she hugged Arthur with easy access to his neck. Maybe Merlin was just too trusting.

"How far are we from Camelot?" asked Morgana, thought she knew. Morgause's spell had helped her find Arthur and Merlin's position exactly.

"A day or two," answered Arthur. "If Merlin doesn't slow us down anymore."

"Me?" yelped Merlin, offended.

"And so we'd better get walking if we want to get back sooner," finished Arthur, completely ignoring Merlin. "Are you up for a bit of walking, Morgana? We'll stop for the night in a while."

"Of course, Arthur," she said with an almost-simper.

And then, for no real reason, she smirked. This time, Merlin did roll his eyes. Arthur, oblivious to all, started walking.

* * *

Frederick studied the sharpness of his blade in the fading light. "Soon, Morgause?"

She smiled at him. "Your thirst for blood is commendable, but be patient. Your men need more time to get ready… And Morgana needs more time to get rid of the serv—_sorcerer_, Merlin."

"When will you be giving her your poultice, or whatever that charm is?"

"Tonight. As soon as the prince and his pet warlock are sleeping."

* * *

The question was, would Arthur or Merlin be giving up his blanket to the Lady Morgana?

Of course one of them would be sleeping on the floor of the forest, but neither really wanted to be the one. Merlin because giving up his comfort for the witch was not an appealing thought, and Arthur because giving up his comfort at all was not a prospect he looked forward to. But, at the same time, the Lady Morgana could not be allowed to know that they didn't know who was going to give up the blanket. So the argument was only half out loud, covered by small talk, and conveyed a good deal by angry looks.

In the end, Merlin won, when he pointed out in a perfectly normal conversation that "the _chivalrous_ prince here would be taking _first watch_."

Arthur sighed but prepared himself for a night of discomfort.

Morgana began to replan her night around the watch schedule, offering to take second watch so that she could meet up with Morgause. She ignored Merlin's suspicious stare, knowing that she had nothing incriminating on her (right now) and that for all he knew, she could have been completely honest (about the bandits, anyway).

Merlin determined to keep a close eye on Morgana that night. Doubtless, she would sneak off and do something dastardly, and he would be left picking up the pieces and keeping everyone alive. Again.

It really got very annoying after a while.


	11. In Which Merlin is Reckless

**Chapter Ten **

Merlin was tired, in more ways than one. He was exhausted physically, of course, from the trek around the forest and everything else that had gone on that day. (And he couldn't go to sleep because he was watching Morgana – despite how creepy that sounded – which just made him feel sleepier.) He was also tired because even Merlin, who had to put up with a destiny-spouting dragon, a prattish prince, and a sometimes demanding doctor, as well as his own dangerous secrets, had a limit to the amount of bull he could take. And after a day like today, Morgana appearing and playing the damsel in distress was just the straw that was breaking the warlock's back.

Oh, and to make that rather dense straw even heavier, Arthur was a complete prat about sleeping on the ground.

Even though Merlin did as he promised himself and made sure that Morgana didn't try to stab her half-brother in his sleep (as if she would do something so simple and _not_-dramatic), and even though he stayed awake and watched her, he had a horrible feeling that if she pushed him too far, he would do something reckless. And when Merlin did reckless things, the consequences were always severe. But the warlock had this fed-up feeling swelling in his chest, making him want to scream, making him want to throw off his blanket and pace, making him want to _explode_… Merlin wasn't sure how long he would be able to keep himself in check.

The night grew dark, and animal noises came from all sides. Arthur took first watch. Morgana gave at least the appearance of sleeping. Merlin put his head down and watched out of the corner of his eye.

* * *

Morgana closed her eyes but did not sleep. She wasn't tired. Well, that wasn't strictly true—she was tired; her body felt heavy and her head hurt. But she couldn't even think of sleeping with her brain full of such thoughts and feelings.

First, there was anger. Raw, almost overwhelming anger. She thought that she had accepted the fact that Merlin was a warlock and a traitor to his kind back when she was speaking with Morgause about it. She'd thought she'd wrapped her brain about it and could move on.

She was wrong. Seeing Merlin again brought it all back… This was the man whom she had trusted with her secrets and her fears, and he'd nodded and made all the right noises of sympathy. She'd thought that she could trust him. Morgana had wondered how he found it so easy to throw all that away when he gave her poison and let her drink it. She'd come to the conclusion that she just wasn't as important to him. Arthur was the one he was loyal to, and if she got in the way she would be removed. But now she thought differently. He'd simply never cared at all. She wasn't_ less_ important; she wasn't even worthy, in his eyes, of the truth or any kind of help.

It felt like rejection. It made her so mad that she wanted to jump right out of her blanket and stalk over to him and put her hands around his neck and just _squeeze _the life out of him.

She only managed to restrain herself because of the other feeling: excitement. Yes, he hadn't felt that she was important enough to even bother. Well, he would realize soon enough that she was better than his prince. He would regret ever poisoning her. Or maybe he'd just regret not finishing the job. But he would regret something whenever Arthur raised his sword and spitted his lying manservant on it.

And then Arthur would die too, and Uther would have no choice but to claim her as his own and let her become his heir.

And then Uther would meet his demise.

Morgana would be queen, and she would be _happy. _There was no better revenge.

Morgana's mind flitted between angry and excited as she curled up in the blanket, waiting.

At last Arthur's hand shook her shoulder. She looked up at the prince blearily.

"You're taking second watch, right?"

She yawned. "Yes, good night, Arthur."

Morgana sat up, glad to have an excuse to keep her eyes open, and watched as Arthur trotted off to bed quite happily. Probably expecting to dream about Gwen. The poor fool, she thought. He wouldn't sleep so soundly if he knew his companions had magic.

Within minutes, Arthur was sleeping. Morgana waited just a little longer – the story of her life recently – and then she stood. Smirking to herself, she quietly pushed the blankets to the side and crept off into the night, careful to watch where she stepped. She was leaving the others without person on guard, but that was okay. Anyone who killed them would just be finishing her job a day early.

Morgana went to meet Morgause, not knowing that Merlin was watching her retreating back.

* * *

Merlin watched her sneak off. Probably to do some plotting, he thought. He would have to follow her and discover what her plan was.

The swelling exasperation made his chest feel tighter.

What was the point anyway? Even if he discovered her plan, no one would believe him, least of all Arthur. Perhaps he would be able to stop her from… whatever it was she wanted to do, but he still wouldn't be able to face her upfront.

He felt his face getting red.

But the warlock would still have to follow her, still have to save the day unnoticed while she smirked at him, because that was what Merlin was best at doing.

Yes, he was going to explode.

And then he did. Suddenly he just couldn't take the irritating, awful routine anymore, and Merlin leapt from his makeshift bed and was across the tiny clearing like a bolt from a crossbow. He'd decided what reckless thing to do, and hang the consequences that would surely make him regret it.

Merlin bent over the prince of Camelot, his master, and pressed his hand to Arthur's mouth (just in case, though Arthur was a warrior and would probably awake silently). Merlin leaned over so his own mouth was near Arthur's ear.

"Prat?" he whispered. "Arthur? Wake up. Wake up! There's something I want you to see."


	12. Which has Even More Plotting

_Anyone else ever notice that Morgana and Morgause have a deadly tendency to re-explain their plans to each other? It's like Uther, who insists on making plans 'privately' where anybody can overhear. *Rolls eyes*_

_I hope that everyone gets an alert for this; I think that ff net is messing up again. _

* * *

**Chapter Eleven **

Arthur surfaced from a dream he was having rather suddenly, and his first instinct was to struggle against the hand he felt covering his mouth until he could get to his sword.

"Arthur, don't freak out! It's _me_!"

The words were whispered, but spoken with a voice that Arthur trusted, even half-asleep. He stilled immediately, his eyes opening as he finished waking.

His eyes met Merlin's, and Merlin drew back. "You awake, then?"

Arthur nodded but kept his mouth shut. His senses on high alert, he tried to look around for danger without turning his head, and, seeing none, he began to get mad. _What_ was such a big deal that Merlin had to wake him up in the middle of the night?

_Someone had better be dying,_ he thought with an inward sigh.

"What _is_ it, _Mer_lin?" He glanced around again, his eyes falling on two empty blankets. "Where's Morgana?"

Merlin's eyes followed Arthur's to the blanket, and he suddenly looked a whole lot less sure of himself. "Arthur, I want to show you something."

"Where's Morgana?"

Merlin relented. "Okay, I want to show you Morgana…"

"Is she hurt?"

"No… Arthur, just… Be quiet. Follow me. This is important."

It was on the tip of Arthur's tongue to remind Merlin who was the master here, but for some reason he didn't. Perhaps it was because Merlin was taking him to the missing Morgana. Perhaps it was the nervous look on Merlin's face. Perhaps it was the way Merlin slunk quietly into the trees—_Uncanny! Where was that stealth when we were hunting?_

Arthur stood up quickly and followed just as silently. _Where are we going? _he wondered. _What is Merlin not telling me? _

The woods were dark and silent, creepily so. Arthur didn't see any little animals, probably because of the people trekking through. He nearly walked into a tree once, not used to sneaking around in the dark. Strangely, Merlin seemed perfectly comfortable. It was strange.

Eventually Arthur just shrugged it off, and just at that moment he noticed something ahead of him. He crouched lower, noticing that Merlin, a little ahead of him, did the same. He tried to be even quieter, looking down every time he took a step and praying that Merlin didn't trip, as he was prone to do.

_Is that Morgana? It is… but what is she doing? Who is she talking to? _

Arthur froze and listened. Within seconds, he wished that he hadn't.

* * *

Morgana greeted her sister with a hug.

Morgause peered at her, as though worried. "Did Merlin make any trouble?"

Snorting, Morgana shook her head. "How could he? What could he say with Arthur there?"

"So they accepted your story?"

"Why shouldn't they? Do you have it?"

Morgause passed something cloth-covered to Morgana, who took it and studied it. "What is it, Morgause?"

"A poultice. It looks mundane now, but just speak the magic words I taught you over it, and it will begin to glow, and look very magical."

"And is it?"

"Yes, but the spell in it will only cause nightmares if put under someone's pillow. Of course, Arthur does not need to know that." Morgause's smile was so wide that it was almost hard for her to talk. "When you find 'proof' that his own _manservant _is dabbling in magic, he'll be furious. And you know what to say then?"

Morgana smirked. "Arthur will be putty in my hands. He'll kill Merlin."

Morgause took the brunette's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "And with no Merlin around to warn him, Arthur will never see the attack coming."

"You'll be queen within the week, Sister. Do you have a place to hide it until the morning?"

"Yes," said Morgana, tilting her chin up.

* * *

For a while, Merlin watched Arthur's face as they listened to the witches' conversation. At first he looked confused, but when Morgause mentioned Morgana using a spell, his expression changed to horror. It remained there until they heard Morgana said the sentence that let Arthur know without a doubt where she stood:

"_Arthur will be putty in my hands. He'll kill Merlin."_

Merlin had to look away, his face feeling hot. Prince Arthur very rarely looked vulnerable, but Merlin knew that he wouldn't have looked more hurt by an arrow to the chest than he did in that moment. Merlin felt as though he'd driven a knife into his friend, and suddenly wished he hadn't woken Arthur.

The prince would never forget what he just heard. Perhaps it would have been better if only Merlin knew, if only Merlin had to deal with Morgana's betrayal.

Merlin only listened to the rest with half his mind, trying not to look at Arthur. He felt angry with himself, though he tried to remember how he had felt earlier: that it was time for Arthur to know the truth about his half-sister. It was harder to be sure of that when he could practically _feel_ Arthur's betrayed eyes glued onto the girl he would give up his throne for.

_Is that how he'll look at me one day? _

Merlin was only jolted out of his thoughts when he heard Morgause promise that Morgana would be queen soon. That meant they were wrapping things up; only a few minutes of conversation were left, and he and Arthur needed to get back to the camp before Morgana saw them gone.

"Come on, Arthur," he hissed nearly inaudibly as he latched onto the prince's arm and dragged him away, still moving as silently as possible. Arthur didn't struggle or complain, just followed his servant silently.

Until they got back to camp. Morgana was only minutes away, perhaps even coming back at that moment, but Arthur didn't hurry to bed. He jerked his arm back from Merlin, and the servant turned around to meet his eyes.

"She's enchanted," said Arthur, not bothering to lower his voice.

Merlin swallowed, knowing that if he agreed, it was just going to be harder on Arthur later. "No, Arthur," he said quietly. "She's not."

If before Arthur looked like Merlin had stabbed him, now he looked like Merlin was twisting the knife, torturing him. "She _must _be!" he growled, but didn't sound as convinced.

"She lived with Morgause for a year while she was gone," pointed out Merlin, making excuses.

Arthur stared at the blankets for a second. "You think, in that time…?"

"Yes, I do. Arthur, we have to look like we're sleeping before she gets back—"

The prince had thought of something else. "You _knew_?" He glanced back up. Merlin looked away. "Since when?"

Merlin shrugged. "You see why I couldn't just _tell_ you, Arthur? You never would've believed me."

He looked back and saw the struggle Arthur was going through. He still didn't want to believe it. He was trying desperately to be the competent prince that could handle any sort of shock, but the part of him that was just Arthur wanted to curl up and cry, to yell, to deny it.

He didn't have much time. He had to think straight. He didn't think he could. "You knew, but you didn't tell me."

Merlin winced as though he had hollered, instead of speaking calmly.

"Morgau—That woman said she could use magic and called her sister."

"Yes."

"Morgana wants to kill you?"

"Because I know about her, I think."

"And if she… _killed_ me, she would be… be queen… of Camelot?" Arthur was feeling very light headed.

"She… Morgana…" Merlin couldn't say it. He couldn't do that to Arthur, too. Not after how much he'd hurt his friend already tonight. Merlin felt hot wetness pressing up through his eyelids.

"Tell me." Arthur looked up, and those anguished blue eyes must've had their own kind of power, because Merlin said it before he realized.

"She's your father's daughter."

Arthur collapsed. He didn't make a sound, didn't cry or do anything else he wanted to. His legs just gave out underneath him, and he was sitting on the floor, his face hidden behind hands that clutched his hair.

Then Merlin looked up and whispered, "Arthur, she's coming."

Merlin had always known Arthur was strong, but he found new respect for the man in the next seconds. By the time Morgana got back to the camp, Arthur was lying on the ground where he'd been sleeping, looking for all the world as though in deep slumber. Merlin, curled up in his own blanket, noticed that he didn't as much as twitch when she swept into the camp, looking around with contempt.

The prince was still as she got into the blanket assigned to her, though he must have wanted to leap up and demand answers, shake her until she turned back into the kind-hearted woman she had once been. He didn't do a thing as she went back to sleep, content in her treachery, leaving two heavy-hearted men awake.

As Morgana's eyes closed, she smiled. _This will be easy. _

But it was anything but easy for the rest of her companions. Merlin turned "in his sleep," determined that Morgana would not see the tear on his face. Arthur pressed his own face into the ground, struggling madly to keep his breathing sounding normal and untroubled.

There was silence.


	13. How the Story Gets Back to the Teaser

_In the words of my reviewer __**Valkyrie Vamp**__: _"Well... breakfast should be an interesting affair."

_*Chuckle* Sorry, that tickled me. Actually, let's see if we even GET to breakfast…_

* * *

**Chapter Twelve **

"Arthur!" Morgana's voice was just a little too high to be realistic, Arthur noticed. And there was a definite whine in her word. How had Arthur never noticed that _before_?

She was standing in their little crude camp site, holding up Merlin's bag of provisions, looking into it with her face frozen into a blank expression.

This morning, when they had gotten up, Merlin hadn't; he'd snuggled deeper into his blanket and complained that as last watch, he'd just gotten to sleep. Arthur rolled his eyes and said to leave him, but he wasn't going to get any breakfast. "That'll show the idiot. Now where did he put the food, do you think?" He'd reached over to wake up Merlin and ask, but the servant, strangely enough, was feeling just nervy and exhausted enough to not budge. Morgana went to check Merlin's pack.

Morgana was thinking to herself that this was turning out to be very easy. Arthur was thinking the same thing.

That's when Morgana called Arthur's name.

"What is it, Morgana; did you find a spider?" Arthur joked as he made his way over to Morgana.

"No," she whispered, shooting a scared look in Merlin's direction. She looked pale.

Arthur reached her side, and she tilted the pack so Arthur could see the glow coming from inside.

"What…? That looks like magic."

"Yes," said Morgana, eyes wide. "It does… And it's in _Merlin's pack_."

She turned to look into Arthur's eyes, and he inwardly swallowed. He needed all his best acting right now, but acting had never been his strong point. He felt an expression of horror and disbelief come over his face, and Morgana must have been satisfied because she turned away.

"No," he said, keeping his voice low and looking at the sleeping Merlin. "He can't be using magic." He reached his hand in to pick up the poultice, but she stopped him.

"No!"

"What?"

"Don't touch it; it looks dangerous."

"How would you know?"

"When I was kidnapped…" She let her voice trail off, and Arthur didn't push the issue. _The idiot. _

"_But _Mer_lin?" _insisted Arthur.

Morgana shrugged. "What will you do?"

She turned to look at Arthur, expecting to see that hatred for magic in his eyes. And she did, but there was something else in his eyes that she couldn't quite place. It was a little like hurt… _Betrayal? That would make sense. The Pendragons always think those with magic have betrayed them. _She didn't roll her eyes, but wanted to.

He swallowed. "I'll take him back to Camelot and arrest him, I suppose."

Her eyes went wide again. "But Arthur, if he knows that you'll arrest him…!"

"I won't tell him yet."

"But look at this!" She gestured to the glowing. "Who knows what he's planning before we get to Camelot!" She paused. "… That sounds so strange to say, Arthur. I can't believe it. _Merlin_." She shook her head, and this time the feelings were quite real.

Arthur nodded. "Magic corrupts, Morgana." He planned on saying more, but looking at his traitor of a sister he couldn't quite get it out. Plus, it was Merlin he was talking about and _that_ was quite ridiculous. "I could tie him up, I suppose, but he can't walk that way. And I can't carry him all the way to Camelot."

"Arthur," she said, looking sad again, "No matter what you do, if he knows we're onto him, he can escape. I'm scared. Look at this poultice! I can't believe he's evil, but if he is—Arthur, we don't even have horses. All we've got is your sword."

Arthur knew that, in theory, Morgana was not the kind to show her fear, and so, in theory, he should assume that she was indeed very terrified. "You don't mean that you think we're at the mercy of _Mer_lin?" He tried to put as much disgust and disbelief as he could into those words.

"Who knows how good he is at magic? This poultice…"

Arthur stared at her, the emotions in his eyes suddenly seeming muted. "You think that, no matter what, if Merlin's alive, he can attack us?"

Morgana met his eyes and drew her brows together, keeping her word very clear. "_Yes_."

Arthur nodded as though she'd made up his mind. "Fine." He felt inwardly as though he was being torn apart, but he couldn't let that show. He couldn't.

How could Morgana say that, imply that? How_ could_ she?

Arthur turned towards Merlin, but Morgana caught his arm, her voice high-pitched again.

"Arthur, what are you going to do?"

"Morgana, let go."

"Arthur…?"

"And stay here. _Stay here_. I don't…" He swallowed, not meeting her eyes. "I don't want you to see this. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Arthur," she said in a breathy whisper, and if Arthur had been looking, he would've seen a faint smirk grace her lips. Luckily he didn't look. His heart felt broken enough as it was.

Arthur knelt by Merlin's bedroll, fingering the sword at his side. "Merlin, get up. I said get up." He didn't touch Merlin to shake him awake, knowing Morgana was watching. Merlin rolled over and grumbled.

Voice suspiciously thick, Arthur said, "Get up." A pause. "GET UP!"

Merlin jerked awake, sitting up so fast that he nearly rammed his head into Arthur's jaw. "I'm up, I'm up," said Merlin, rubbing his eyes and glaring at Arthur. "What is it, you prat?"

"Get up, Merlin. I want you to come with me."

Merlin yawned. "Why? Where are we going?"

"Merlin, just come. I want… I want to show you something." Morgana noticed the slight falter in his voice, but (again in theory) Merlin did not. He didn't suspect a thing.

In theory.

"Fine," grumbled the warlock, his expression as grouchy as could be expected after such a rude awakening.

Arthur stood up and walked purposefully towards the woods, pausing to wait for Merlin to scramble to his feet and follow.

"Coming," he told the prince, his expression… just like Merlin's expression usually was. Arthur had a brief moment of confusion… How in the world did Merlin look so natural? He'd _heard _what Morgana and Arthur were saying!

Merlin ambled off after his prince, smiling slightly, and not casting one last glance at Morgana. If he had, and seen her smiling at him like a snake about to eat him whole, he wouldn't have been able to quite control his own face.

Morgana watched them go off into the woods, smiling. _Like a lamb to the slaughter. Look at the steadfast little sorcerer tripping off after his prejudiced prince, not knowing he's going to die. I hope he sees the killing blow coming. I do. _

She waited there, smiling a little, almost wishing she could go and watch, but knowing it was safer to obey Arthur for now. She ate the food from Merlin's pack. She rolled up the blankets. She waited a bit more.

Finally, minutes after they left, she heard it—the faint sound of one last, pained scream, echoing through the forest trees and reaching the sky.

Morgana chuckled.

* * *

They'd been walking for some minutes, and Merlin was trying to estimate the distance in his head. At this distance, assuming Morgana wasn't following (and she might be), she could not hear them if they talked, but if he yelled at the top of his lungs, she could probably hear it.

_Soon, then, _he thought, watching Arthur's back. Arthur was still ramrod straight, head facing forward, probably in case Morgana was following.

When Arthur turned around, it came as a bit of a surprise to Merlin, who hadn't known when to expect it to happen. He yelped as Arthur grabbed his arm ferociously and threw Merlin down to the ground.

It hurt, too, hitting the roots like that, but Merlin didn't make a sound, just stared up at Arthur with wide eyes. The prince stood above him with his sword high above his head, the light catching on it and making it look almost dream-like. Merlin's heart skipped a beat and then began to pound. Silly, of course, since he and Arthur had planned this out after Morgana went to sleep last night. But there was something about the picture so radically wrong that he couldn't help being nervous.

Merlin grabbed at the roots by his hand, his body tensing. Arthur brought the sword down, slashing through the air with only a faint whistling sound. Merlin pulled his head back with a snap, feeling it throb where it hit the ground.

Then Merlin cursed, only partly for appearances.

Arthur buried his sword into the ground next to Merlin, missing him by barely a finger's width, and Merlin screwed his face up and screamed at the sky for all he was worth.

* * *

**A/N: Violà! Of course the story isn't done, but now you see what really happened. Who was surprised? Did this work, or did everyone feel cheated out of something dramatic? I'm sorry if people thought that was weak; this was the plan since I wrote the teaser… Anyway, please review; I'll get the next chapter up soon! **


	14. What Arthur Wants to Happen

_A/N: Short chapter this time, but that's what you get, because my updates are going to be frequent until the end. Review?_

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

Merlin immediately started to sit up, but Arthur held up a hand to stop him as he pulled his sword out of the earth.

Merlin tilted his head to the side and gave Arthur a confused look, and by way of reply, Arthur mouthed, "Morgana." Nodding, Merlin let his back hit the ground again, "dead" for all intents and purposes. That was a very strange thought.

Arthur cautiously walked over a few paces to a patch of grass and began wiping his sword on it… As though it was blood covered, Merlin realized, wrinkling his nose. Watching the part that came after his own alleged death was a seriously odd sensation.

Then Arthur began to walk around, back the way they came, looking for trees, checking behind shrubbery. "Morgana?" he called. "Did you follow me? Morgana?" By the time he'd finished looking for a woman who was not there, he could've walked to the campsite and part of the way back, but at least they knew they hadn't been followed.

_Unless she used magic to hide herself,_ thought Arthur, but if that was the case, they were pretty much doomed, licked before they even got around to fighting. _She could be standing next to Merlin if that's the case. _

He proceeded as if the thought had never occurred to him, not knowing that the thought _had_ occurred to Merlin, and the warlock was using a quiet spell to look for her.

Arthur turned back to Merlin, sliding his sword back into his sheath.

"That scream was… heartbreaking," said Arthur, grinning to let Merlin know he was joking. Mostly.

"Thank you, I thought it was rather well done myself." Merlin started to get to his feet, watching Arthur in case the prince ordered him back down again, but Arthur didn't try to stop him.

"Ow," Merlin complained, rubbing his head. "That hurt a bit, you know."

"Could've been worse," Arthur pointed out, fingering the hilt of his sword.

"Now what?" asked Merlin. "This is as far as we got last night."

Arthur sighed. "I guess… I go back. Morgana and I make our way to Camelot."

"What about me?"

"You…" Arthur paused. "Merlin, if I'm right, from what I learned in the village back there, we aren't far from Ealdor."

"No closer than we are to Camelot," said Merlin suspiciously. "From what I heard, anyway. Why?"

Arthur shrugged. "Obviously Morgana has it in for you—"

"What clued you in?"

"And I think you should head to Ealdor for a few days," said Arthur. "If you can get there without getting yourself killed. Meet me in Camelot, I suppose…"

"What, to keep me out of the way?" Merlin's mouth dropped; he couldn't believe Arthur was saying that. "Have you forgotten that she's going after you next?"

Arthur flinched, and Merlin knew that though he wished he could, he wasn't going to forget _that_ little fact anytime soon.

"Like you'll be much help if that happens," said Arthur.

"When that happens," Merlin corrected quietly, but Arthur took no notice.

"I can take care of myself."

Merlin nearly argued with that, but it was pointless. Arthur wouldn't believe him anyway. Of course he disagreed though; he fought with Arthur until he was nearly blue in the face, saying he wanted to stay close by, but Arthur wouldn't hear of it. He didn't want Morgana to know that Merlin still lived yet, and besides, he didn't think Merlin would be much help.

In the end, Arthur pulled the "I am your master; do what I wish" card, adding that Morgana would start to wonder what was taking him so long if Merlin didn't shut up and obey. Merlin very nearly suggested he tell her that he had to draw out the death, but remembered in time that Arthur didn't need to hear that now. He hadn't had as long as Merlin to get used to the idea of Morgana's treachery, and probably wouldn't welcome jokes about it.

Arthur patted Merlin on the shoulder and gave him a firm nod, possibly worried he'd never see the man again, and started off back towards camp.

Merlin waited five minutes before he followed.

"Stupid prat," he muttered to himself as he trudged through the bushes and tripped over roots, scowling at the prince's arrogance and obliviousness. "'I'm the prince of Camelot; you're my servant; do whatever I say!' Well, Arthur, if you wanted me to listen to you, you shouldn't have fired me…"


	15. In Which Arthur is Tired

_A/N: How far is Ealdor from Camelot? I don't know; in The Moment of Truth, I only saw them sleep once, so I'm going with two days. Thanks. Please review._

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

"_We can't tell anyone, though." _

"_No, I suppose not. People might believe you, but of course she'd deny everything. It would cause a lot of trouble—we don't even know who your father would believe."_

"_Besides, if they tried to arrest her, you say she could just break out with… with magic."_

"_And we can't watch what she's doing if she's not in Camelot?"_

"_Exactly."_

"_So, Arthur, what will we do when we get back to Camelot with her? It'll be a little hard for her to miss that I'm not dead, and even if, by some impossibility, that wasn't a problem, she would still begin to work on another plot."_

"_We watch her, Merlin. We watch her." _

Arthur plodded along a dirt road that they'd come across, Merlin's pack slung over his shoulder and his sword at his side. Remembering the conversation he'd had with Merlin the night before, Arthur was trying to convince himself that he was keeping Morgana's secret because it was practical, not because he still loved the girl.

Looking at her, he couldn't believe that he could love that. Feel contempt for, be angered by, pity… No, not pity; he didn't pity the woman who grew up hiding magic from someone who might kill her for it. Okay, so he pitied her.

But he was still struggling with the love.

When Arthur came back, Morgana was sitting placidly on the forest floor, smiling a bit, and waiting for the prince. Arthur studied her for any signs of remorse—for all she knew, she'd just killed Merlin and was on her way to kill Arthur, _her half brother._That would make anyone feel guilty, right?

Wrong. She didn't look sad in the least; she didn't cry or try to ask what happened. There wasn't even dullness in her eyes. She looked bright, chipper, _excited_… When Arthur turned away, he thought he saw her smirk to herself. It was abundantly clear that Morgana no longer cared a smidge for Arthur or Merlin.

Every time Arthur glanced her way and saw her looking so unworried, even though she tried to hide behind an obviously fake frown and a few unconvincing sniffles, the realization hit him all over again. And every time it hurt all over again.

It was really quite frustrating, because if anyone else hurt Arthur, he was perfectly capable of fighting them off or hurting them right back. But this wasn't that kind of hurt, and it wasn't just any enemy.

They walked for hours.

Not one word was said in that time.

Camelot was getting closer, and Arthur knew that with no disruptions, they should reach it by the end of the day. Of course, he wasn't planning on the trip being a smooth one—where were those blasted "bandits" anyway? Arthur was getting tired of waiting on them to show up and try to kill him. He was really very nervous about that. While he didn't doubt that he could take down a few of them with his superior skill, Arthur doubted he would win against all of them. He'd just said that to get Merlin to go away… What need was there for the defenseless Merlin to come with him and get himself killed too? At least this way, someone still lived who knew about Morgana's treachery. Arthur would have to trust Merlin to watch her.

Arthur sighed, his chest tightening with nerves. He didn't want to die. He'd rather plan everything out as though he wasn't going to be killed, but he couldn't completely deny the truth: his chances were slim to none. And the only person he knew who_ liked_ those kinds of odds was Gwaine. Arthur hated them. He didn't _want_ to die! He didn't _want_ Morgana to kill him!

With difficulty, he managed to keep his childish thoughts to himself.

Arthur kept walking. He rested his hand on his hilt, shifting the bag on his shoulders. He watched Morgana, who walked with her head as high as a queen's. He kept an eye on his surroundings. He didn't say a word. His feet were beginning to complain, and he was getting very, very, _very_ bored.

All in all, it was a relief when the men that worked for Morgana finally attacked.

They didn't scream to tip him off that they were attacking, but the boots of ten or so not-so-stealthy men in the forest around him were hard to miss. All of them rushed forward at once, and Arthur spun around, dropping Merlin's bag at his feet and drawing his sword in one fluid motion. Out of habit, he pushed a "surprised" Morgana behind his back to keep her safe.

As he stood there, crouched and ready for action, Arthur noticed a strange weariness in his arms that alarmed him. He couldn't afford to slip up now, even if he was sick of fighting for his life. He had to be energetic and smooth and win against all these strong, angry men.

Arthur gave a small sigh as the wave of men hit him, pushing him back.

_I wish I was home, _he thought, a little surprised to find that he had time to be wistful when he was about to fight for his life. But then his battle instincts awoke and his training took over, and Arthur had no more time to think about it.

* * *

**A/N: I know, it's short AGAIN. Frankly, I'm too exhausted to write more. Later! **


	16. How Merlin Reuses a Spell from Ch 3

**Chapter Fifteen **

Merlin nearly ran into the bandits lying in wait for the prince.

He was walking along, keeping one eye on Arthur and Morgana and the other on his own clumsy-in-the-daytime feet, when he looked up and realized that about half a dozen filthy, sneering men were staring very intensely at the road where Arthur was approaching.

_Why are the bandits always ugly? _He wondered to himself. _Oh, wait, no, that one's not… He's the leader, I think. _The man looked like the leader; he stood up straighter than the rest, and Merlin thought he looked very familiar, so he guessed that the man had attacked him before.

Merlin sighed silently as he ducked back behind some trees, drawing no attention to himself. Now, a spell… A spell to get rid of a few bandits…

But before he could think of one, the leader gave a signal and all the men were rushing forward, right towards Arthur.

Merlin sighed and took a few steps forward, so he could watch everything – and help a bit – without being seen. He didn't feel like letting Arthur yell at him for disobedience right now, and Morgana still thought he was dead.

* * *

Arthur simply could not be in ten places at once. There was no way he could win this alone, he realized, and had a brief moment of worry for Morgana. Then he remembered she didn't need to be worried about.

The blond prince sidestepped one attacker and blocked a blow from another's sword. A third man didn't have a sword—just a big stick. Arthur cursed out loud. He didn't want to blunt or break his blade on a club, but he really didn't want to get beaten with the club either.

Oh, and that other guy, over there, was about twice his size.

_This is just lovely, _he growled in his head.

How could he possibly, _possibly_ fight off ten men?

Arthur saw a movement off to the side, and spun to face a man who hadn't expected Arthur to react so quickly… And then Arthur only had to worry about nine men.

A cracking sound from behind made him glance around to see a large branch falling from a tree, like branches did whenever Arthur was fighting more men than he could handle. Arthur winced. Okay, he had five men to handle… That had been a very large branch, and _man_, did it look like it hurt. (It was really very suspicious, but it had to be luck. The only people there were Arthur and Morgana, and Morgana was on the enemies' side.)

Arthur turned back to the remaining, slightly less cocky men. This… Now this might just be possible. He twirled his sword expertly (which did nothing practical, but often struck fear into the hearts of his opponents) and crouched a bit, ready. He felt a smile touch his lips. Fighting. Now that's what he was born to do.

And then he was fighting for his life, spinning away from the club of one man and the blade of another. He felt his heartbeat and breathing settle as he fell into a pattern he knew so well. Thrust, parry, keep an eye on all enemies. He stabbed two men – the big one and the one with the club – though he got bashed over the head for his trouble. Dizzy, he didn't manage to kill the third, but the man was knocked out and wounded, and so Arthur left good enough alone.

There should have been two left, but when Arthur looked around, one of the men was inexplicably dead, and Morgana was staring at him in confusion. Arthur didn't spare a moment to worry about it, just decided it was probably a clumsy attacker, and faced the last man.

The last man was the leader, Arthur noted, with a proud profile but a greedy face. He stood like a warrior, though, and carried a blade. His eyes shone with hatred. Arthur knew that this was someone to be taken seriously.

Frederick attacked, and Arthur stumbled backwards. The last fight began, and each man was just as determined as the other to survive it.

* * *

With only one man left, Merlin was sure Arthur could handle it. He turned his attention to Morgana, watching her closely. She glared at Arthur's back with narrowed eyes, brushing her hands angrily against her rumpled riding dress. She twisted her long, dark hair nervously between her fingers and seemed to be chewing on words—a spell, Merlin guessed, to make sure Arthur lost.

_Oh, no, you don't. _

Merlin watched her closely, waiting for her to say a spell that he could counteract. Merlin spent a good deal of his life making sure Arthur didn't get hurt, so he found it rather irritating that Morgana kept getting in his way. He wished he could keep her occupied for the time being…

Wait, maybe he could.

Merlin's mind flickered back a few days. Hadn't he written down that spell he'd created accidentally…? If it looked like Morgana had done the same spell, she'd probably stop casting spells in order to deal with the not-hot, green, smokeless fire on her dress.

When Morgana's eyes flashed gold and she whispered a few words, Merlin immediately pushed down on the blade she was trying to pick up with her magic and said a spell of his own.

Morgana squawked most unattractively and began beating at her dress. Merlin smirked and turned back to Arthur in time to hear an 'urk' sound as the winner stabbed his blade into the stomach of the loser.

Frederick fell upon the ground, dead, and Arthur pulled out his blade and turned around.

Merlin quickly got rid of the flames on Morgana, wishing he didn't have to.

Arthur smiled at Morgana, a little strained. As he surveyed his bloodied sword, he said, "Well, that wasn't too bad, was it?" He wiped the sweat from his face.

Merlin rolled his eyes and then, exhausted from all that magic, he sat down to catch his breath.

Morgana hadn't said a word, but was still staring at Arthur, dumbstruck. Arthur tried again to smile warmly, but it was in vain.

"You ready to keep moving, then?" he asked.

Off the road, hidden from sight, Merlin tried desperately to bite back a moan of discomfort. Why did Arthur never take breaks? But then again, he would like to be home, safe, as much as Arthur would.

So they moved on and left yet another pack of dead assailants behind them.

* * *

**A/N: MUST. STOP. WRITING. SHORT CHAPTERS. Oh well. Please review for me… This story is almost over. Next chapter might be the last! **


	17. Which Brings the Story to the End

_WARNING: Some very small s3 finale spoilers in the last section!_

_Okay, last chapter!_

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen **

_Morgana doesn't improvise well,_ Merlin reflected to himself as he followed closely behind the worse-for-wear half-siblings. When her magic failed her and all her hired men died (except that one, but _he_ wasn't waking up anytime soon), what did she do? Did she employ some clever talking to trick Arthur into accidentally getting himself killed? Did she put her plan on hold, figuring now that Merlin was dead she could wait for another day? Did she contact her sister for help?

No.

_When she was on our side, she didn't improvise so badly, _he thought. _Being a vengeful witch doesn't suit her._

Even though she knew the first spell she tried to use on Arthur backfired, she kept trying to use magic, trying to use brute force to win what she'd obviously lost. Morgana didn't figure that something was wrong with her because none of her spells were working; she just _kept trying_.

It was driving Merlin mad.

Morgana glanced at Arthur out of the corner of her eyes and tried to use a spell that would incinerate him, which Merlin thought was just _mean_. He quickly doused the flames before they came into existence, seeing it coming because Morgana had a thing for fire. Arthur noticed nothing. Merlin wondered if _this_ was really the prat who would be the great king that united Albion.

Morgana tried a spell that would have blasted Arthur against a tree. Merlin silently pushed Arthur a little farther ahead and the spell missed, glancing harmlessly of a tree trunk. Arthur noticed nothing. Merlin put his face into his hands with a quiet moan.

_Does Arthur just think she's not doing anything because she still likes him or something? And he calls me an idiot. _

It continued this way for a while.

_Oh, for the love of Camelot,_ Merlin thought to himself. _If this keeps up, I'll set her dress on fire again!_ And then, for a second, he smiled, remembering how she'd danced around beating at her skirt and making noises of alarm. Reminding himself that he had to focus, the smile dropped.

When they finally reached Camelot, Merlin wanted to throw himself at the ground and hug it. They were home. They were safe.

Well, saf_er_. Morgana was still plotting, of course, but Merlin could live with it. The only difference from when they left Camelot, as far as Merlin knew, was that now Arthur was in on the loop. And Morgana would soon know that he was, but that he wasn't going to tell anyone. And so things would go back to normal, mostly.

Besides, Merlin was hungrier than he was the time Arthur killed a unicorn and all the plants died and grain rotted. Camelot meant dinner.

Now Arthur and Morgana were entering Camelot on foot, and knights and guards were beginning to surround them. Merlin hurried to catch up so that he could be in the crowd when his master beckoned.

* * *

Morgana could've gone straight to her room, but instead she chose to go to Uther so she could tell her story to him when he was finished with Arthur. And, also, she wanted to see what Arthur told him about the trip.

Arthur explained to his father how he lost his horse to the forest and his knights to the bandits. Uther interrupted there to tell him the horses had arrived back in Camelot and men were out looking for any sign of those missing. As he said this, Morgana noted without pity the haggard look on his face. He must have been worried sick. Arthur then continued his tale, mentioning Morgana's story (Morgana nodded and tried to look pitiful), and concluded that the bandits were disbanded and the majority dead.

Morgana noticed that he didn't say a word about where his manservant was, and Uther, being Uther, didn't ask. She wondered why he hadn't told his father that part. Was the memory painful for Arthur? Was he protecting Gaius, perhaps? Was he trying not to spark his father's paranoia and magic-is-evil spiel?

Uther then nodded his gray head, looking more relaxed than he had in days now that his traveling offspring were home. Turning to Morgana, he asked, "Do you have anything to add?" She didn't, so he dismissed them all, saying that Arthur and Morgana no doubt needed sleep. He also told Arthur to go to Gaius for the injury on his arm and the knot on his head as soon as possible.

"I don't know about you, but _I'm _tired," Arthur said to Morgana as they started down the hall and away from the crush of people near the castle of Camelot.

Morgana sighed, feeling the tension of seeing Uther draining away, and started to agree, thinking to herself that she would meet Morgause tonight.

Then Arthur, not listening to her, said something that made her question his sanity. He yawned a bit, looked back in the crowd, and then said, "Where is that useless manservant…? _Mer_lin, come _on_."

Morgana's mouth dropped open, but before she could say a thing, she saw something that made her question her _own_ sanity: Merlin stepped out of the crowd and walked up to Arthur.

"Sorry, Sire," he said, scratching his neckerchief-less neck. "I wanted to tell Gaius I was back."

Arthur immediately responded, "How did you make it back so quickly from the physician's chambers?"

Though Morgana was still staring, not processing, Merlin understood what Arthur really meant: _"Why the hell aren't you in Ealdor?"_

Merlin shrugged. "I didn't think I should… loiter."

Arthur gave him a private glare that promised a lecture, but Merlin only smiled. Turning back to the flabbergasted Morgana, Arthur asked, "Is something wrong?"

Her mouth moved for a moment before sounds came out. "Wha…? I… I thought…"

"Oh, Merlin?" Arthur smiled, trying to keep it from turning into a laugh. No matter where her loyalties were, Arthur had always liked playing jokes on Morgana. He had to remind himself that this was serious. "I thought it was probably best not to tell my father about your… misunderstanding."

Her green eyes, which were taking in every inch of Merlin, snapped to Arthur, and the prince's expression immediately melted into a grave mask. "You…" She stopped and cleared her throat. Arthur knew about her.

The very idea sent a spark of alarm coursing through her, making her want to magic herself away. But wait… no… Arthur knew about her, but he wasn't going to tell Uther? Is that what he'd said? Why?

She looked back at Merlin and found him smirking at her, and she thought she found her answer. Merlin. He knew about Merlin, too, and he knew she knew about Merlin. That's why he was keeping her secret, so she wouldn't tell Uther. It was like a bribe, blackmail… A _promise_. A promise that she could remain above the law if he could.

He was allying himself with Merlin, then. Though it made her angry, it made sense. Merlin wasn't trying to kill him.

_Merlin was not dead. _

Morgana let that sink in. She hadn't tricked Arthur at all, then. The whole scene in the woods—faked. Probably Merlin's idea. And that's how Arthur managed to stay alive the whole trip. Morgana mentally growled. She _really_ hated Merlin. She wanted to wrap her hands around that bare, bony neck and strangle him. She wanted to hit him with something very heavy, like a chair, and beat his head in. With difficulty, she managed to control her violent urges and regain her composure. She stopped gaping like a fish and straightened her back.

The witch gave Arthur an icy glare and saw him falter under it.

"Very well," she said, her tone clipped, her chin tilted back. She cast one last look at them – Merlin in his rumpled rags (minus the annoying scarf) and Arthur in his more expensive but now worn clothes, his sword at his side and a bandage on his arm – and she sniffed regally. "Neither of us mentions the misunderstanding." She smirked her signature smirk (Merlin couldn't pull it off half as well as she could) as she walked away, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. "We'll try to be _clearer_ in the future."

Glowering and not knowing if her threat went home or not, she went to her room. She would talk to Morgause. For now no one would say anything to Uther, but she would have to strike quickly before the status quo changed. She wouldn't give up. She would be queen of Camelot yet.

Behind her, Arthur and Merlin watched her go. Arthur's face was sorrowful, and Merlin's was solemn but tinted with humor—after all, this was nothing new to him. And Morgana was just slightly amusing when she put on the theatrics; also, he was relieved to have gotten out of another spot of trouble alive, and relief made him want to laugh.

Arthur sighed and turned away. "We watch her." He didn't mean it to be a question, but it sounded like it.

Merlin nodded, agreeing. "We watch her."

Arthur began to walk down the hall in the direction of his chambers, calling behind him, "Coming, _Mer_lin?"

Looking surprised, Merlin pointed to himself but didn't move his feet. "Me, Sire?"

Turning around, Arthur scowled, not getting Merlin's new game. "Of course you. You're my manservant after all; you follow me when I tell you to."

Merlin smiled. "Well, I _did_, Sire, but then you fired me. For the second time, actually. Remember?"

Arthur blinked, recalling the incident immediately. "I wasn't… I mean, I didn't… _Merlin_!"

Merlin treated Arthur to his signature goofy grin, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Fine, you're rehired."

"Now, hold on, Arthur. I haven't agreed to that."

Arthur began to slowly make his way back over to Merlin, standing as straight and tall as any knight could in all his fearsome power and strength. Merlin was less than impressed, and would not be cowed.

"What do you want?" Arthur asked suspiciously.

"Well, since in the last few days I've lost all of mine… New scarves. And a raise; I mean, do you even _pay_ me nowadays? And we're going to need to renegotiate the mucking out—Ow!"

Merlin's yelp was due to Arthur's hand having flown through the air and clipped him on the back of the head. He rubbed at the spot, pouting while Arthur tried to contain a smile.

"Merlin?"

"Yes, Sire?"

"Shut up."

"Yes, Sire."

But the next day, Merlin was sporting a new, non-raggedy neckerchief. He didn't tell anyone where he got it, though, and no one thought to ask.

* * *

A week later, word came to the king in a report that a young woman, Emily by name, had disappeared into the night along with some of her prized possessions. Interestingly, though the king didn't think so, she was the wife of a guard named Paul, who (though again the king didn't put it together) hadn't been seen since he left Camelot the week before, guarding the Lady Morgana. However, the king could be forgiven for not thinking about this too much; he had bigger things to worry about than a woman going missing. Word had just reached Camelot that an entire patrol – which included Sir Leon – had been attacked. None of them had made it out alive, or so the people back in Camelot thought.

* * *

**END**

**A/N: For those of you who didn't get it or haven't seen the s3 finale, that line at the end was to bring us to the next episode in the timeline. Also, in a review of chapter 1, PPitP requested this story be a "****fluffy bunny/rainbow/unicorn/biting satire"****fic. And I fit in the last one this chapter: mention of a unicorn. Well, that's it then. Do whatever it is you do when stories end… But please review. Since this is the last chapter, it would be wonderful to hear what you think one last time! Thanks for reading!**


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